Atop the Mountains of Hell (TSA)

[Lark]

Lark had once heard a passing whisper say that Muunilinist had the most beautiful skies in the galaxy, and out of the handful of planets he'd visited, the rumor seemed to prove true. Standing atop the mineral-rich mountains Lark gazed up at the cloudless sky, appreciating the pure blue stretched out like an endless painting. Spots of pink and orange from above silhouetted the pair of Sith as they stood in the cool, early morning air, which bit their skin like small, harmless insects. Of course, there always seemed to be something that ruined Lark's momentary moments of peaceful bliss. The potential for death was not one, for Lark had never feared the eternal oblivion, the endless nothingness. Feeling nothing would truly be peace.

The peak he stood atop with [member="Krest"] was one of the many dormant volcanoes in a mountain range known for it's intense, constant volcanic activity. Volcanologists said that at any given moment this particular volcano could blow, unleashing a fiery hellstorm of smoke, ash, fire, and lava, corrupting the innocent sky and singeing the mountainside. Lark had always believed that the eruption of a volcano was natural, primal chaos at it's finest, but he had never intended to be standing so close. And this was not the only one primed to blow, several volcanoes in the near area could rain ashy sediments and boulders in random directions, posing an even greater threat.

Lark stood a few meters away from Krest, sword drawn. The man had deemed this the perfect location to practice swordplay in a one-on-one duel. Introduce a variable that could not be accounted for, which real battlefields were full of. Maybe the volcanoes would remain dormant, and once the duel concluded, if they both remained standing they'd leave with tales to tell their fellow Lords or acolytes. Or maybe a blazing inferno of madness would take them both.

Sweat dripped down Lark's wrist, coating the hilt of his sword in viscid filth. He held it tighter, careful not to let it slip from his grasp as he swung. If I am struck down here, at least I can enjoy a nice view, knowing that I can no longer be hurt. He looked up at his master with an eager smile. "Ready when you are."

 

[Darth Ferus]

"It's a beautiful place, filled with untold danger right?" Krest stood across from [member="Lark"] , his gaze off in the distance. There was more than one reason for the Zabrak bringing them up here, but the first was indeed the chance of death. At any moment they could be engulfed in the magma below, killed in such an inglorious way that none would remember them. But that was only part of the reason.

A deep roar sounded off in the distance, some miles away.

"And that would be one of them. Lava Golem would be the best name for it. A huge beast that can survive the melting temperature of lava. Lightsabers wont do anything against it. Our swords might." Krest pulled up his sword, pointing right for his apprentice. "You're lessons are two fold. First, the importance of finishing a fight quickly before reinforcements arrive. Second, how to deal with big targets. We'll work on the first. So come, try to finish me quick."

 

[Lark]

[member="Krest"]

The beastly roar sounded far off, but within the mountains echoes could be deceiving. Perhaps it was miles away, or maybe it was lurking around the nearest ridge, or within the heart of the volcano. Another variable Lark would be forced to deal with. The task of defeating Krest, which he had been unable to do even with other acolytes fighting beside him, being prepared for a volcanic eruption that would blot out the sun and hurl geysers of raging hot magma towards them, and now Lava Golems were patrolling the area. But they were all trials that could be overcome. There were no other acolytes to help press the attack, but that meant they also weren't there to get in his way. Krest alluded that the Golems could be hurt with his sword. And if he reacted quick enough, he could race the lava down the mountain.

Krest remained his most challenging obstacle. He invited Lark to be the one to strike first, which he had ashamedly never been quite good at. And Lark had used trickery in just about every one of his opening moves, perhaps it'd be wise to wait. He drew his sword, about three feet in length, sparkling in the morning sunlight. Not a weapon whose appearance matched a monster such as him. He kept his dagger sheathed for now, he'd draw it if it became necessary. He eyed his master, gauging his options. Against one so experienced there was little Lark could do to win the fight after the first strike, but he couldn't "test the waters" so to speak without risking the volcanoes or approach of Golems. Best just to dive right into things and adapt from there. Lark was a quick thinker, he'd adapt. Like a coryphee Lark approached gracefully, with a malicious beauty. He unleashed a lighting bolt at his master's chest, and quickly followed with a subsequent strike.

No, Lark had not defeated his master.

Yet.

 

[Darth Ferus]

The lightning came with a momentous crack, forcing the Zabrak to twist his blade around to catch the bolt along it's steel. Thankfully, the Sith Steel absorbed the blast as he did so. The faintest grin lined Krest's face as he felt the impact of it however. [member="Lark"] had been training on his own. Good. It was the Lords personal belief that to truly become Sith an apprentice had to make their own path rather than blindly follow the path their master set out before them.

In a smooth motion from the flick of the blade the Lord brought it down again from overhead to catch the subsequent strike. "Good, good! Any tricks or tactics you have to overwhelm your opponent you should never hesitate to use! We are Sith, but even we are mortal. If you can't kill your target quickly before reinforcements come, you will loose your life." As he spoke his other hand came around, gripping out through the Force to take a hold of the boys ankle and yank it. Obviously this was to set Lark off balance, but it was also meant to teach him another useful trick to overpower his foe.

"And always remember that a Jedi of clear mind will overpower any Sith. Undermine your foes in any way you can!"

 

[Lark]

[member="Krest"]

Lark liked to believe that through study and examination, most everything in the observable universe could be understood. Of course there were exceptions to this rule, such as what motivates men like himself and the inexplicable actions of certain people. One thing he failed to grasp no matter how hard he tried was honor, especially when it came to fighting. In bouts of survival, the honorable end up buried underneath their other righteous companions, while the so-called "cowards" who resort to underhanded means walk away with their lives. There was no honor among the dead, those who truly desired victory should fight tooth and nail through blood and dirt in order to emerge intact. If that required fighting using trickery and dishonest attacks, so be it. Lark felt no shame.

This is what Lark thought of as he spun towards the ground. He had to assume that his opponent was willing to resort to any means to succeed. His Master grabbed his ankle with unseen hands and tripped him, and he stumbled in an undignified manner onto the rocky ground. He needed to become more accustomed to fighting Force users. And what better way than to fight the best there was? But out of all the lessons that the Sith could teach him, fighting dirty was not one of them.

Lark knew what his own next move would be. He felt the sharp rocks and gritty, burnt dirt underneath his knee. He needed to end the fight quickly, he must be unrelenting in his attacks, he couldn't bait his Master and catch him in a counterattack. As he rose he used the Force to push a small storm of charcoal, rocks, and dirt directly at Krest. He aimed for the face, but if a few stray projectiles hit him elsewhere, who was he to complain?

He had been knocked to the ground, but he rose with renewed vigor. A tameless grin revealed itself, but he maintained a calm, sharpened mind. He always did. With hopes that Krest would be blinded, Lark quickly threw his knife in one fluid motion, disguising it amongst the rubble. He'd be temporarily losing the weapon, but his sword would still suffice if Krest evaded the barrage. Refusing to cease his pressuring attack, Lark danced towards his Master as the debris flew, and prepared to unleash a flurry of precise strikes.

 

[Darth Ferus]

If there was one thing Krest was to be known for, it was to be false appearances. He faked being an old man to get others to underestimate his skill. He capitalized on the arrogance of others. Many might think he was an Honorable man, but to him, honor simply meant never taking a life needlessly. To kill someone for fun was dishonorable. How one fought when their life was on the line? There was no dishonor in surviving.

Not that he was a fan of the dirt thrown into his eyes. With a sharp hiss the elder man stumbled back, one hand rubbing his eyes to get the dirt out while the other kept his saber up to block any incoming attack. He almost missed the whisper of danger and turned his head just enough for the dagger to only cut across his cheek. Blood dripped down his chin as pain surged through his mind, and soon enough [member="Lark"] came, lashing out with his sword. With one hand the Lord deflected the strikes, continuing to stumble back as he squinted through one eye.

"That's more like it!"

 

[Lark]

One untrained in battle might let the satisfaction of wounding their Master momentarily blind them, their pride getting in the way of their actions. But even before Lark joined the Sith, he was quite familiar with combat. One had to be, growing up around criminals and pirates that weren't capable of rational discussion. That didn't stop him from swaying them to join his malicious cause, but he would've preferred less brute force and more silver words. So despite the fact that Lark had finally made Krest shed blood, the battle wasn't over until the Zabrak said it was, or one of them lay dead.

It did feel good though.

The desire for an acolyte to slay their master was one that seemed to run deep within the minds of new initiates. Lark had felt the urge himself, but never as strongly as some of the others. It made for an interesting dilemma. Krest was one of the few people to ever earn Lark's respect, although he'd be loathe to admit it. He didn't want to kill Krest. But he didn't not want to either. If his master ended up dead at his feet, so be it. Lark would lose no sleep over it, he never gave a second thought to killing anyone.

But it would be no easy feat. Lark was down to solely his sword, which wasn't a problem. Daggers were most effective in close quarters, but he noted the spot where it landed regardless. Now that the two were locked in combat, Lark was automatically at a disadvantage. He had a great ways to go before he'd match Krest with a sword. He was still slightly blinded, but he had no knife to throw, and he would rather not risk throwing his sword.

Digging his feet into the ashy, charred ground, Lark focused as he blocked Krest's counterattack. His muscles flexed as he met the attack head on, and as he forced the attack back he lifted his free hand, and attempted to push his master into the rumbling volcano using the Force.

[member="Krest"]

 

[Darth Ferus]

Krest was an aged warrior, able to counter many things in melee combat. It was his element, his soul focus. He could see attacks before they came and acted accordingly. But even this time as he was so focused on training [member="Lark"] and speaking to him he found himself in the air. His brow raised in surprise as his form soared backwards. With a quick twist however he righted himself, landing on a lower ledge with a wide grin on his face.

"Now that's the way you do it!" Praise was earned for the young acolyte, though as he shouted his compliment a crash sounded off behind him. From below a roar sounded, much like the one he had warned of earlier, and from the molten lava below a massive hand rose to grasp one of the rocks and it began to pull itself free. Soon enough, a Lava Golem began to rise. The Zabrak turned his head to look at the creature, nodding appreciatively at both it's timing and impressive size.

"Well, that'll do."

 

[Lark]

Krest sailed backwards, but not nearly as far as Lark intended. His master fell below the rim of the volcano, but all kinds of ledges and crevices were naturally built on the inside of the volcano wall. If necessary the higher ledges could likely be traversed, but as one drew closer to the heart, the more difficult it would be to move around safely.

Lark saw Krest's delight as the Lava Golem roared from deep within the magma, and began to ascend from within the fiery depths. Lark knew it had only been a matter of time. He had done everything possible to defeat his master as quick as he could. But the battle was not yet over, and the golem was as much his enemy as it was Krest's. To the beast, the two Sith were intruders, to be dealt with in the only way intruders should be dealt with. Removal by force. It was now a three way battle, but Lark was not the one caught in the middle.

He could attempt to force Krest back further down the volcano, but he would be expecting another Force Push, and Lark needed to conserve his energy. He picked up his dagger, the metal stung his hands as he lifted it, the hot coals burning into the enchanted weapon. With his sword in one hand and his dagger in the other, he slowly walked towards the ledge the Krest fell off of, careful not to get to close. He finally saw the Lava Golem slowly climbing the walls, it was an imposing figure. The ground started to rumble, the volcano threatened to erupt at any moment and cause chaotic devastation that could swallow them whole. And despite this, Lark let out a delighted smile.

Despite it's meaning, chaos was the only thing that felt natural to Lark.

Nothing else made sense.

[member="Krest"]

 

[Darth Ferus]

Krest hefted his sword onto his shoulder as he stared back up to [member="Lark"] , a wide grin on his own lips. Most would feel an overwhelming sense of fear at such a large creature in such a dangerous situation, but the boy smiled just as the Lord would. His boots would shift into the gravel of the ledge he was standing on as he prepared to jump up. Below him the golem continued it's ascent, and the Sith wasn't so foolish as to try and fight the creature in it's lava bath. It would come to them. But first.

The Force flowed through his body to his legs as he jumped up, springing forth from his ledge to the edge where Lark stood in but a moment. Still with a grin on his face he would bring down the sword on his shoulder in a single handed grip with all his weight behind it. He wasn't even attempting to land on the ledge, rather force Lark into defense midair. "Kill the beast before I kill you. That's your new challenge!"

 

[Lark]

Lark sighed inwardly as Krest issued his new objective. Fighting either opponent would put Lark at a disadvantage, but at least Krest, for all his tremendous strength, could bleed and die like any normal man. But fighting this colossal beast, in the belly of a volcano primed to erupt, in it's home field? In that respect, Lark might as well dive straight into the lava. But in his eighteen years he had almost always considered himself the underdog, and while the golem triumphed in strength it fell flat in wits. Krest had alluded earlier that their swords could harm the molten creature, and as it ascended the volcano the heat, while still blistering, would be manageable. He also reminded himself that while it was his duty to slay the monster, it was not Krest's ally. If he delved into the volcano after Lark, which sounded like his intention, he could find himself in conflict as well.

His Master soared upwards from his previous position, intending to force Lark down below. He lacked the power to brush him aside with naught but a thought, but he could still foil his plans. Using the Force he attempted to take hold of Krest's ankle, and yanked it to the side. The goal was to force him off-balance, but Lark dashed forwards to avoid the swing just in case. The man had leagues more experience than him, he would take no chances. He took one look into the heart of fire, and waves of red, orange and white danced around in an infernal, sweltering display. He lept down to a ridge below from where Krest jumped from, and already his pale skin was flushed red with heat, the color almost matching that of his hair.

He kept his knife sheathed, no matter it's properties a weapon of such a small size would do little against the Lava Golem. How curious that his blade was so snow-like, a soft blue and white contrasting the warmer colors below. He had always appreciated contrast.

Fortunately for Lark the innards of the volcano were full of small paths and ledges for him to utilize. He continued to descend, wanting to buy himself time away from Krest but careful not to plunge to far lest he leave himself unable to escape the thunderous eruption, should that tumultuous event occur.

When I was a child I burned my home away, helping me to become the man you see before you. I walked through my streets of birth as the flames consumed them, and all that remained when I was finished were the ashes of the place so many once called home. We were both born in fire, you and I. Let's see which of us the heat prefers.

[member="Krest"]

 

[Darth Ferus]

Krest blinked as he was flipped midair. The yank not only pushed him to the side, but caused him to turn. There was little to brace himself in the air after all. Probably would have been better to go to solid land rather than attack as he had. Still. The grin on his face never faltered even as he frantically reached out to find something to grip. Eventually he just shoved the Sith Sword into the ashen mountainside. There it found purchase, stopping the elder from falling any farther than he was about to.

He would stay there hanging as he looked down to [member="Lark"] , studying. It was smart to go to the larger threat, force Krest to have to contend with the beast himself while still trying to kill his apprentice. How long could Lark keep up with that however? The Sith reached a hand up to the wall, sending a vicious blast of the Force to pull the blade out and send him back into a fall, this time far more controlled, and with another laugh he would call out.

"Don't fall in the Lava boy! Even if you die I can still use your blood."

 

[Lark]

Despite Lark's disinterest in most things, Lark was surprisingly active in one thing: Maintaining his appearance. His skin was rarely covered in boils or acne despite the fact that he was still young, and any temporary scars he bore had never subtracted from his serene appearance. Even his clothing, whether silky robes, defiled rags, or the shadowy cloaks commonly worn by the Sith, he donned them all, and managed to look charming in all of them. Unless he was playing some other role, of course. His looks, silver tongue, and adaptability had always given him a knack for acting.

But the clothing he wrapped himself in was not only used for disguises. Beneath his drabs, underneath his cloak, lay several pink patches of skin, burn marks still healing from long ago. He had ascended from the flames, the only one from his home to do so, resurrected in a sense, no one save himself remained to hold him back. He remembered the moment he rose, flames devouring rotten wood, smoke shrouded his path out of hell. Embers popped and his small frame wandered through the maze of collapsing buildings and burnt, charred, unrecognizable bodies. He almost didn't make it, and his body was left horribly scorched. Over time his wounds had healed, but a few lingered, a constant reminder of what he had done.

These wounds flared in pain as he descended, although the hurt was more mental than anything else. He still dreamt of the fire, a constant companion even when Lark made his temporary escapes from the waking world. He and the Lava Golem were almost of even level. Was this beast the fire's judgement, come once again to engulf him in vehement torment? He should have died back then, was the golem sent to finish the job?

He had almost put [member="Krest"] out of his mind entirely. He could feel his master following down, kindly reminding him that perhaps falling into the lava wasn't the greatest of ideas. Noted, Lark thought with a chuckle. He faced down the beast, which had molten yellow eyes that matched his own corrupted gaze. He'd rather not touch the beast directly. The metal sword he held betrayed it's cold design, it grew hotter with every passing moment. Maybe the palm of his hand would bear one more burn mark once he was through. He didn't care. Pain was a familiar playmate.

Plunging from his perch above, he brought his sword down in a vertical strike, aiming for the golem's eyes. Blinding the beast seemed as good an approach as any, a better tactic than slowly bringing it down with strike after withering strike. He still needed to kill it quickly to fulfill Krest's order and avoid the ensuing eruption. As he landed he unleashed a quick flurry of strikes at it's arms and legs, hoping the fell the beast in a few frenzied moments.

 

[Darth Ferus]

The creature roared as it's eye was cut from it's skull. It was sad, pained roar as it seemed to whimper, but as it roared and it's own adrenaline began to pump it changed from a pitiful roar to one of anger. It's roar echoed through the volcano to an almost deafening degree, and as [member="Lark"] came in to strike its arm came sweeping down to knock the acolyte away. Krest on the other hand had landed behind the boy, but rather than attack he would do a similar thing to what Lark had done to him prior. Grasp an ankle through the Force and trip him up. "Be mindful of your surroundings boy! Don't focus too much on just one thing."

 

[Lark]

The thunderous roar of the golem shook the very foundations of the volcano, making Lark worry that the rapturous yell was strong enough the awaken the sleeping mountain. It launched out at him in anger, moltenous arm seeking to grab him and slowly burn him to death in it's hellish grasp. Lark quickly jumped back in what he thought was a well executed move, but as he flew backwards he spun out of control, rolling off the ledge and narrowly tumbling into the lava below. He grabbed onto the ashy edge, dark soot found refuge underneath his fingernails and sharp stones burned his fingers where he clasped the ground. He quickly pulled himself back up, noticing the source of his stumble. [member="Krest"] descended faster than Lark expected, and he found himself stuck once more in between a swordsman with decades of experience in the art of war and a molten monster created in the depths of hell. Both were trying to kill him, and while he was only required to slay one, he may find himself having to defeat both in order to survive.

The air grew harder to breath, and Lark's skin turned almost as red as his master, flushed with the rising heat. His familiar burns raged out in pain, screaming out in anguish. To his left stood the golem, to the right his master. If he advanced towards one the other would pursue. But one was blinded, it's eye gouged out. Lark had a plan, but he needed to move quickly.

But perhaps more importantly, he needed to deal with Krest. If he could distract him even even for a second, he was confident he could move fast enough towards the golem to get the kill. He reached out with the Force, attempting to crush the ground underneath him. It was flimsy with age and the burned rock fell away into tiny pieces, but Lark was still unaccustomed to using the Force in such away. Hoping that it was enough, Lark dashed towards the golem using a method taught to him by his master, using the Force to enhance his speed. The golem launched a downwards fist, trying to crush the scarlet pest. He slid underneath it, and rolled underneath it's legs, slashing at the soft area below it's knees. It fell to it's knees with a thud, hot liquid spewing from it's wounds nearly burned his clothing off.

Lark jumped onto the golem's back before it got the chance to rise. The heat radiating from the beast clouded Lark's mind and nearly set his insides aflame, a familiar feeling. Burns were a constant companion, the heat hurt, but at least it was constant. He brought his sword up and plunged it into the back of the beast's neck, and it let out a guttural roar. To it's credit it continued to fight, struggling to shake Lark off of it's back. Lark dug his feet into it's rocky shoulders, and guided his sword through the monster's neck, beheading it. It's head fell down to the molten depths below, and magma oozed from it's neck. Lark fell to the ground behind it, the ground felt oddly cool compared to the hide of the golem. But his mission was done.

The beast was dead.

 

[Darth Ferus]

The ever persistent grin on the Zabrak's face had turned to [member="Lark"] as he fell off the cliff side, and faded. For a moment the Sith thought he had truly killed his apprentice, and disappointment welled within him. Slowly he lowered his own sword, ignoring the golem to his left as he took a step forward to be certain the boy was dead. It was at this step the Force screamed of danger, as as his foot settled back down the ground gave way. A surprised blink of his eyes was all Krest could do as he suddenly fell down the hole.

And he laughed. How foolish to think he could kill such a wonderful protege so easily. His metal hand slammed into the side of the hole that was made, finding purchase as he would dangle there for a moment, laughing his disappointment away. The Force would swell around him as he used it to leap back out of the hole just in time to see the young boy behead the monster, and more laughter began to erupt from the old man as he stepped over.

"Impressive my boy! Learning on your feet now on how to manipulate the Force around you. Crushing the ground was as good a way to stop me as any other. Allow me to show you one last trick." It was then that the Force rumbled around them both, and a crushing sensation would find it's way around Lark's throat. "I could feel your pain from the heat. Pain is strength. Break this hold using that pain." True as ever death was a constant threat in Krest's teaching, and this would certainly be no exception. But of all the things Krest could teach, this would be the most valuable lesson for a young Sith to learn.

 

[Lark]

Sometimes praise was to easily given, which led to students to have an inflated sense of achievement and pride that wasn't as well earned as they believed it to be. But now, when [member="Krest"] commended him for his actions, Lark allowed himself a tiny sense of accomplishment. Part of him had hoped that the man perished in the fall, all acolytes had a desire to kill their master, some more perverse than others, Lark had never felt that desire as strongly as some of the others. But Lark was ultimately a bit glad the man survived, which was an odd feeling. He wouldn't have lost a minute of sleep if he had fallen, but he was a good teacher and Lark didn't know if he had a ride home without him.

This sense was only somewhat deflated when Krest grabbed him by the neck with invisible hands, lifting him off the ground and crushing his throat. He couldn't breathe and it felt like his neck would snap at any moment. He listened to his words about using his pain and hate, two of the most potent fuels for Sith, to break free from his unrelenting grasp. Really? Here? This couldn't have waited until we were out of the volcano? That's what he would've said if he'd been able, but he could appreciate the theatrics of it all.

Channel your pain, and use it to escape. I can do that.

He was taken back to the fire, years ago. The memories could be so vivid when he wanted them to be, he remembered every detail, down to the youngest child's scream. He knelt in the ashes of the orphanage he was raised in, clutching a bloody knife in one hand and a silver necklace in the other. Both were hot to the touch, conducting the heat and burning his hands. It felt like nothing compared to the fire that consumed his body. His torso and back were on fire, his hair had singed off completely, his long scarlet hair had been replaced by a wig of flames. He could feel his skin slowly melting as he knelt, unmoving. He didn't so much as budge. It was absolute anguish.

He lifted his head, taking in the chaos around him. He heard the distant screams of children searching for their families, soon they too would be devoured by the fire. He had designed the plan so that none would survive. The few thousand people that lived here, all reduced to cinders. Except for him, apparently. He had thought this to be the perfect suicide. No one would be left to truly know who he was or why he had done what he did. All he would have ever been was a nameless monster.

But for some reason the flames deemed that he alone should be forced to live through this hell. So he rose, ash and soot fell to the ground from his pink and black skin. Would he ever be as pale as he once was? His feet were bare, he stepped through hot coals and over bloody bodies. Not all had been killed in the fire. Smoke danced around him, taunting him by obscuring any means of escape. This was not the perfect suicide, the boy thought. This is the perfect rebirth.

If he could survive. The entire city was slowly burning to the ground, but the flames began feeling mysteriously cool, the air around him began to feel cold, dark, and repugnant. What is this feeling? The flames no longer hurt, although they were still there, cracking loudly as they licked his skin. His very aura seemed corrupted, as if what he had done was offensive to all of reality itself, that avoiding death was a sin so grievous it'd permanently infect his soul.

He wandered through the city, he was to exhausted to run. He was confident he drew closer to the outskirts, although he wasn't sure if the buildings simply weren't close together or if they had burned to the ground. His hunch was correct, he soon escaped the flames. There was a small pond near where Lark was, and he fell face-first into it. Steam rose, and Lark's body sizzled like when you put something on a grill. The water wasn't warm, but most things were more soothing than fire. He drifted in the water and contemplated staying there, but it was a pathetically small pool, it would've been embarrassing for him to drown in it even if there was no one left to see.

He contemplated his rebirth, the thought did sound appealing to him. He was only thirteen years old, he had so much time left! A fresh start, no one was left alive who knew who he was or what he was capable, and willing, of doing. And he decided that he wanted to start over, so to speak. He rose from the pool, mostly naked, the fire had burned away most of his clothes. The fire still raged behind him, it likely would do so for several days. He was cold and the aura around him was sickening, but he didn't care about either of the three things. He took one last look at himself in the pool. He had once thought that he had reached the darkest depths possible, but in the reflection he saw in himself a darkness even greater still.

As he walked, hoping that maybe some smugglers ship was landed somewhere outside the city, a bird landed on a nearby branch. Like him the little creature didn't seem to care about the hellish scene nearby, singing instead a beautiful song. He liked the tune, the chirping of birdsong had always enthralled the boy. It was at this moment he decided his new name, he no longer had any need of his old one. Lark strolled along, hands held behind his back, whistling to the same tune the bird was.

Brought back to the now, Lark remembered and took hold of the pain from that day. His skin felt as hot as the lave below him, but that pathetic magma was no match for the fire he remembered. He ripped himself free from his master's clutches, falling to the ground and coughing heavily, both from a lack of breath and the rising smoke. Despite this he found himself smiling. He hoped Krest saw what Lark remembered. Not many knew of his past, but he was feeling generous today.

 

[Darth Ferus]

Krest gazed impassively as [member="Lark"] dug through his memories but he was listening to them. Pain was one of many tools for a Sith to control and use but only if they truly knew it. Being burned near death was a fairly good way to learn what pain was. Marked by fire. Old wounds ached on the elder man as his own mind flashed back to his master Vulcanus and the torturous methods that were used to teach. Fire was a pure form of pain.

So it came to no surprise that the boy broke the grip, landing on the ground as he gasped for that much needed air. Krest smiled in return as he stepped over to the boy, offering a hand. "Come on, I think I got enough soot in my boots to make a flute."

 

[Lark]

With one pink hand massaging his dry throat, Lark accepted his Master's hand. When first apprenticeship of [member="Krest"] Lark was initially chafed at having to report directly to another. But over time he had come to value the lessons the Lords had to offer. The weak were weeded out, and with training the strength of those who survived was amplified. Given time, Lark knew that he would ascend in power and influence. But that time was still a long ways off. This training exercise, however dangerous, was still just another test to prove his worth. He believed himself to be doing well so far, but he could not let himself slip up and fail. I used to be the hand that moved the pieces of my childhood home, but as I grow up, so too does my playground. The battlefield has grown larger, and so too must my potential. This is but a start.

Together, Lark and his master scaled the volcano, and he did not look back. It was a sight he had seen before, and would continue to see over and over again in his dreams. With exhausted limbs he climbed over the lip of the volcano, welcoming the cool breeze. The sun had risen, morning and passed while the Sith plunged into the heart of fire. An extraordinary view to be rewarded with after such a trial. "Well, that was fun," he said with a slightly sardonic tone. But he wasn't lying. It had been fun. And, with each passing mission, Lark drew a hair closer to reaching the answers he sought.